


Sobering Up

by FatalSmiles



Series: Seven Seas of Rye Whiskey [3]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Drunk Sex, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, Erotic Poetry, First Time, Love Poems, M/M, Pillow Talk, sex happens but is not explicitly written, warning: it gets sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-23 05:26:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20334799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FatalSmiles/pseuds/FatalSmiles
Summary: January 1973. Roger realizes his first time with Freddie will also be his last.





	Sobering Up

He billowed in from the raining white.   
Cold coffee in between colder fingers.  
I warmed them in my own; cradling them in that place between personal space and my heart.   
He smiled. 

“They were warm when I bought them, I swear.”

I didn’t care. Neither did he.

“We can warm it up with something else.”

The last drops of vodka left under the counter looked like nothing less than faerie’s tears.  
We portioned out this final rationed morsel,  
and with a smack of tongue on grinning lips we toasted:

“To the work day.  
To the rat race.  
To cold and hunger.  
And to the ladies in the changing station next door  
for bringing some wetness into our dry, thirsty lives.”

The day dragged on.   
We warmed ourselves on that chilled coffee and huddled too close and too comfortable.   
We took joy in doing stupid things to make each other laugh,  
and his was the rush of wind in your ears on a crisp spring day,  
because it made me feel like I could fly. 

Just when I’m wondering if he feels the same his gaze is too deep.   
And somehow we both knew the answer all along.   
Can you miss someone even if they’re right beside you?  
I missed him then, though not nearly as much as now. 

Old man winter decided to stop bellowing at us as the sun started to creep away for the night.   
We called an early one and vacated.  
There was no one around to tell us otherwise. 

And we were off,  
bounding up the darkening street with painfully loud exhaultations of our youth.  
We were half drunk, half-assed, and all aglow.  
Somewhere along the line he complains he’s losing the feeling in his fingers.  
And somewhere along the line I’d have tucked one of those hands into a coat pocket with mine,  
and then later switch to warm the other. 

I’d no clue where we were going.   
He pulled a glass flask from inside that coat he wore  
\--the coat that looks like so many pieces of tissue paper sewn together--  
He took a swig of amber, shuddered, then handed it over. 

There was no question,   
only the exchange and our silent appreciation of it.

I found myself taking to the bottle a little too earnestly.   
The taste of bitter vapors I sucked from the rim breathed easy.  
It was a step up from the cold, dry air that threatened to freeze my lungs shut. 

I glanced over and saw him looking at me. 

For all his love of cats I’d never fancied he was much like one until I saw his face that day.   
His eyes were trained on the cornered mouse that was my mouth.   
His humming voice a purr as he drew closer.   
And when our lips met it didn’t take long for him to lap me up like cream.   
He’d gotten me, that was without a doubt. 

He didn’t take the flask back.   
Instead he took my hand.   
We fell over each other in the snow;   
giddy children trying to find their way home.   
He was as directionless as I was,  
but I let him pull me along  
because he could take me anywhere. 

Eventually one or the other of us recognized a street through the fog of whiskey and lust.  
From there we found our way on pure animal instinct.   
We climbed the stairs two at a time.  
Meeting that lukewarm heat we could scarcely afford,  
we breathed our first real breaths of the day.

And then we were breathing each other. 

“Your room or mine?”

“Mine’s closer.”

We were tangled.   
I didn't know which way was up.   
All I knew was the smell of his skin and the remnant taste of cheap spirits. 

I remember feeling these things:

Relief

Gratification

Excitement

Need  
Hunger  
Warmth

Savagery

His open palms pressed against my back, ensnaring me.  
I could feel his fingernails leaving those sharp trails of heat.  
My teeth found him then,   
and the sound he made was more beautiful than any song he sung. 

He was everywhere.   
He was everything.   
From the slide of his tongue over my ear,  
to his devilish whispers of sweet nothings,  
broken by a moan and a rolling of hips as we met for what truly felt like the first time. 

I was on fire. 

Being with him and being_ with _ him was all the difference between a record and a live show.   
Touches sparked electricity.   
Conversations transcended words.  
How could I possibly go back from that?  
I found myself wanting front row seats for the rest of my life. 

“Yes!”

“Oh god...”

“Yes! Fuck yes!”

“Oooh my god…”

“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“Sshhhhit. ”

“Ah! Oh my- Fuck! Right there!”

“Freddie….”

* * *

They lie there afterwards, stewing in a pregnant silence. Normally, sex put Roger right to sleep but this… he was unable to wrap his head around any of it.

He rolled over to lie on his stomach away from Freddie. He took a pillow and clenched it tightly in his arms, pressing his face deeply into it. Some animal instinct was telling him if he squeezed hard enough then the painful sickening swirl of emotions in his chest might ebb away. 

Freddie softly cleared his throat. “Rog,”

“Hm?” Roger feigned sleepiness. He didn’t feel like having any kind of pillow talk.

“What…” Freddie faltered. “What do you think the future has in store for us?” Roger felt his heart seize up. 

“What’dyou mean ‘us’?” His voice was muffled in his pillow, but it didn’t mask the cracking on the last syllable. He heard Freddie make a sharp intake of breath. 

“Queen.” He said. “What do you think we’ll be like in the future? D’you think we’ll make it?” 

Roger was quiet at first. Freddie wasn’t the type to avoid the elephant in the room like this. 

“Dunno,” Roger sighed, still clinging tightly to his pillow. “But I won’t stick around if there are better places to be.”

“_ Are _there better places to be?” Freddie’s feigned curiosity did nothing to hide the anxiety in his voice. And it dawned on Roger that they weren’t going to talk about the sex. They were never going to talk about it. It had happened and that was all. It was too big, much too big, for either of them to face. This was Freddie’s way of asking if Roger was okay with that. 

Roger didn’t exactly feel relief at this revelation. Somehow he felt like he had given Freddie a much more intimate part of himself than he had given any other partner. And the seriousness of that weighed heavily on him. Nothing would be the same for him again. But it had to be. 

“As of now, no, I can’t think of any better places to be.” Roger shrugged. He rolled back over but kept a safe distance. He brought his pillow with him and cradled it against his chest while he stared up at the ceiling, determined not to look at Freddie. “I get to do as I like. My sound works really well with Brian’s even if he can be a cunt from time to time. And I fancy John’s bass playing more than I did Barry or Mike’s.” 

“I haven’t seen Barry in some time. We should take him out for drinks. He only works just up the street.”

“I’d quite like that. I don’t think he’s met John yet.” This exchange was the lifebuoy Roger would throw to Freddie’s SOS, and nothing more.

He felt Freddie rustle next to him and he tensed instinctively. He didn’t feel at all like being touched. A second later he heard rifling in his bedside table, where he kept his cigarettes. Roger spared a glance over. He watched as Freddie pulled two from the drawer and handed one to him. He could tell Fred was trying to catch his eye but he refused to look. His eyes followed the hand brandishing the ciggy, and then as he took it they returned to their vigilant scanning of the ceiling. He rolled the end between his lips. 

“How well do you think this album will sell?” Freddie asked. The flash of a match poured hues of orange and yellow onto the ceiling. He leaned over and lit Roger’s cigarette before lighting his own. The usual exchange. Roger could feel himself slipping back into that state of normalcy. He took a drag and spared a glance sideways. Freddie was sitting up with his arms around his knees, fingering at a burn-hole in the bedsheets. 

“I’d like to think it’d sell decent.” Roger scratched his nose. “But I don’t think most first albums sell well. Or sound that good to be honest. We’re getting better all the time.” He heard Freddie hum his ascent.

“I think I know what you mean.” He said. “I’ve just got that new journal for songwriting a few weeks ago and already I’m liking my new ideas much more than some of the ones we’re putting on the album. But it’s too late to change now.” 

“Focus on finishing one thing first before you start in on more, you prat.” Roger hadn’t intended to be funny, but Freddie’s sheepish giggles had him smiling in spite of himself. He took another drag on his cigarette and then held it aloft. Freddie brought the ashtray around for him to flick into. 

“Allright,” Roger said, feeling a bit calmer now. “If we ever made it big, how big do you think we would get?” 

“Too big, I hope.” Was Freddie’s reply. “Everyday I pass by a shop and see something in a window and think ‘god I wish I could afford that. It would be lovely.’ And now that winter’s here I find no matter what I wear nothing keeps me warm. I saw a fur coat in the window on King’s road and I got this sudden urge to go in and just take it and run.”

Roger stared at him. Freddie's naked figure was bathed in yellow from the streetlamps shining in through the open curtains. One hand held the burning cigarette, the other had made its way into his frazzled mop of hair. He seemed to be trying to tame it with his fingers. Roger felt like he was just now noticing how frail Freddie looked. The long shadows made his ribcage more pronounced, and his arms and legs looked a little too thin for comfort. 

None of them ever spoke at length about their financial struggles. They all worked hard for little pay off. They all went hungry a little here and there. Roger and Freddie especially didn’t talk to each other about it. They shared a knowing silence. It wasn’t worth making light of. 

But here they were both vulnerable now. 

“I feel the same way,” Roger sighed. “Can you imagine if we were rich? Kor, I can’t imagine what I’d buy first. A nice car maybe.” 

“I’d buy that bloody fur coat.” Freddie took a long drag on his cigarette. “No, fuck that. I’d buy the whole shop.”

“What on earth would you do with a whole shop?” 

“Well first I’d take all the fur coats out and give them away. Because poor people like to be fashionable too, you know.”

“We’re living proof.” Roger felt himself smile. “Can I have one?”

“Hell no,” Freddie shook his head. “If I’m going to be famous I expect you to be too. Go buy your own.”

“Allright. Can I invest in the shop then?”

“I don’t see why not. Maybe we’ll have our own clothing brand.”

“Honestly I don’t know why you aren’t thinking bigger.”

“Didn’t you just say you’d buy yourself a nice car?”

“Yeah, but now that I think about it having my own island might be nice. Maybe in the philippines. Or, whatsit, Ibiza.”

“If we’re talking property I think I’d like homes in a few places.” Freddie flicked his cigarette in the ashtray and then let Roger do the same. “I’d like a place near here of course. For me and Mary. But there are so many places all over the world. I imagine I’d fancy at least a few enough to want to live there too. Can you imagine doing a tour of Europe. Or the Americas?”

The mention of Mary was the final nail on the coffin. Roger had forgotten. Somehow completely forgotten. But he knew now for sure. Mary would never know about him and Freddie. No one would ever know. This had been the first and last Freddie Mercury live show Roger would ever experience.

He didn’t want to talk anymore. Didn’t want to hear the rest. He wanted to ask Freddie to leave but he couldn’t make himself do it. When Roger met his question with silence Freddie went quiet for a while too. They finished their cigarettes. As Freddie went to lay back down on the bed Roger found himself sitting up and asking for another. It was the first time he’d looked Freddie full in the face. Freddie took advantage of it. 

He brought the ciggy around and placed it between Roger’s lips. A match was struck with a flash, and their faces glowed in its light. They searched each other, trying to find some meaning in all this. But both only found confusion. There was a steeliness to Freddie’s eyes that Roger didn’t often see. It was a tired, worn look with something underneath that he could read in an instant:

‘_ I’m afraid. _’ 

Roger could think of a million things that were wrong with this whole situation. But he couldn’t think of a single solution. He let Freddie reach out and light his cigarette. Then the light was gone. 

He sighed, letting smoke billow from his nose and mouth. He lay back on the pillow he had been cradling and felt Freddie come to lie next to him. Not quite touching. But enough to feel each other’s warmth. 

“Can you imagine making music for the rest of your life?” Roger asked. He twirled his cigarette lazily through his fingers as he would a drum stick. 

“I can’t imagine doing anything else.” Came Freddie’s reply. “Stripping maybe. But then I wouldn’t be able to create. I always want to make something new. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop creating for as long as I live.”

“With Queen or without?”

“That’s a stupid Question, isn’t it? With Queen of course. I can’t imagine having a good scrap with anyone but you or Brian. I could be old and half deaf and still be taking the piss out of you.”

“That’s thinking quite far ahead, Fred. You think we’ll last that long?” 

“Watch us, darling.” 

Roger took a long, steadying breath and asked himself feel okay. He knew he’d never feel the same way about Freddie ever again, not after tonight. But he supposed there were worse things that could have happened, or worse ways this could have panned out. Freddie wasn’t letting this affect their friendship or their professional career. And even though it hurt, maybe this was okay. Maybe it was better that way. Freddie’s behaviour was disconcerting, but at least it made tomorrow seem more bearable. 

“Imagine making it so big everyone in the world knows your name,” Freddie went on. “I think that’s all I’d want in life.” Roger heard the smile in his voice --the giddiness-- and felt sick from how much his heart ached. 

“Oh is that all?” 

“Well, imagine being the best drummer in the world. Ladies from every continent wanting a piece of Roger Taylor.”

“You flatter me, Fred.”

“Flattery’s for idiots who want to be lied to. I can flatter any day. I speak my mind when I mean it.”

Roger didn’t have a reply for that. His mouth was too dry. Freddie nudged him, making him jump. They looked at each other in the dark. Then he saw the glint of Freddie's smile. 

“Don’t you dare think about quitting.” He said. “I know where you live.”

Roger felt himself smiling too. 

“Oh I dunno. Do I still get that fur coat?”

Freddie punched him in the arm. Hey laughed. 

* * *

Later that night Roger lay in bed still wide awake. The radio next to his mattress was on at a low volume for white noise. Paul McCartney's voice molded with the crackle of static, and Roger’s lips formed the words silently along with him. 

_ “ _ _ And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me _

_ Speaking words of wisdom, let it be... _ _ ” _

He had no clue what time it was.

_“ _ _ Whisper words of wisdom, let it be... _ _ ”_

Freddie had long since left. A part of Roger had wanted him to stay. He felt like his heart was torn from him. As though he was letting go of a part of himself that he would never again have. 

_ “ _ _ And when the broken-hearted people living in the world agree _

_ There will be an answer, let it be... _ _ ” _

He rolled over and took a long, deep breath. 

_ “ _ _ For though they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see _

_ There will be an answer, let it be... _ _ ” _

He told himself things would be easier in the morning. Daylight made things easier to bear. 

_ “ _ _ Yeah, there will be an answer, let it be... _ _ ” _

He let himself drift to sleep with thoughts of his future behind his eyes. ‘World’s greatest drummer’ Freddie had said. A bit narcissistic, but it was a fun fantasy… thousands of shows, millions of fans, and growing old making music together.

**Author's Note:**

> **Today’s Drink:**   

> 
> **The Bohemian White Russian**  
_The breakfast booze any self-respecting poor college kid uses to start their day._  
½ cup black coffee  
3 tbs Kahlua (coffee liqueur)  
1.5 tbs cheap vodka  
3 tbs milk or to taste
> 
> Add coffee or instant coffee and water to a saucepan over medium heat. Add the khalua, milk, and vodka and enjoy. You can also just microwave the coffee and add the ingredients after heating. This recipe is designed to be versatile so the maker can use what they have lying around to make the drink. Vodka is generally one of the cheaper liqueurs so it’s the easiest to acquire on a budget.
> 
> **Alt 1(The Russian Blowjob):** Sub the milk for 5 tbs of bailey’s irish cream. 2 tbs Kahlua. Choke up on the coffee and add another tbs of vodka. Top with whipped cream and get ready to get fucked up.
> 
> **Alt 2 (The Uncle Joe):** Take out the coffee liqueur and cream and just add more vodka and drink it black.
> 
> **Alt 3 (The High Maintenance):** To bring our Rhye Whiskey story full circle, if you have the cash, combine 1oz of Rhye Whiskey to 2oz of cold brew high quality coffee or espresso, ¼ oz of simple syrup or honey, and a dash of bitters to taste. Shake it up and pour over ice. 


End file.
